


Embertouch

by Pharmockery



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: F/M, He gets better though lets be honest, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Infant Death, Nyx is mentioned, Stillbirth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:48:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26886142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pharmockery/pseuds/Pharmockery
Summary: "She wonders how she could possibly have thought him cold, when his touch burns her so thoroughly?"OREight times the Queen of the Underworld was touched.
Relationships: Hades/Persephone, Hades/Persephone (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 145





	Embertouch

** **1** **

His hand in hers is more courteous than one would expect, as he helps her down those great marble steps within the House of Hades. More courteous than someone who had just stolen you away should be. Rough hands, that are gentle in spite of their hard edges. And still—so gentle, as they lead her to her room. So _different_ to what she expected.

So different to what she _knew_.

** **2** **

He brings his lips to her hand when he asks her to dine with him. She knows what he is like with others, knows now how different he is with her. How easily the smile comes to his face when she says _yes_.  
Her arm in the crook of his as he leads her; he is so _tall_ , so imposing, every inch one of the gods who brought down the Titans. Muscle moves beneath grey skin in a way that makes her _shiver,_ and not quite with fear. And in spite of the strength he so obviously possesses, he is nothing but _gentle_.

** **3** **

His touch grows bolder when she is his Queen. He minds her coy teasing of his whiskers with the single thumb stroke to the base of her spine that he knows makes her shiver. Behind closed doors, he is passionate—in ways the others upon Olympus would never believe, even if she had the desire to share this side of him with them. She doesn’t—will never—and she thinks (hopes) he knows this.

He says he loves her when they’re alone (of course), when his kiss is fire to the nape of her neck. She breathes it back, turns to meet his touch fully, and wonders how she could possibly have thought him cold, when his touch burns her so thoroughly?

** **4** **

She doesn’t understand the hesitation in the way he touches her pregnant stomach. Doesn’t understand the way his expression grows uncertain, almost brooding, when she contemplates names. Their first child. A prince or princess, to rule the Underworld aside them.

This doesn’t mean he is not happy—she can tell, by now. There’s a certain wonder to his deep voice when he beholds her. A flicker of a smile that lingers for as long as she waxes poetic about how much she loves the name _Zagreus_ for a boy. A pride in his eyes when he sees her longing looks towards the goddess Nyx’s young boys.

And yet. A hesitation—One that cannot be chased away by all the kisses peppered across his bow that she can muster.

** **5** **

She can _feel_ the grief, and the anger, and the resentment in his touch, before she sees it in his eyes. When the little one’s fire flickers out, and she howls, she can barely bring herself to look at him when he reaches for her hand. His grip is tight—rough, more so than it has ever been, and had she not just had her heart broken in twain, she would have been startled.

But all she has is grief. And a husband who lets his rage at the Fates for snatching such a future from him linger in the way he embraces her.

** **6** **

His last touch is simultaneously the easiest and the most difficult thing to leave. The arm coiled in unconscious possession (or perhaps, protection?) of her as they slept. She spends what feels like eternity contemplating it. Loathing, and loving, and loathing it, a million times over.

And then it is replaced by the cold air, which gets even colder as she flees to a new existence. A new life. Where the air is frozen, and she is _alone_ , and that is everything that she is.

** **7** **

A new touch. And yet, so familiar. As familiar as the one burning red eye, and the one cool green eye that stares back at her.  
Oh, but she knows it is _him_. Her son. Her Zagreus. Her baby, tall, and handsome, and as unsure of her as she is of him. Such unease simply melts away once she has him in her arms. He smells of struggle, of blood and sweat, and yet of travel too. Flowers (Elysium…), and brimstone, (…Asphodel…) and the unmistakeable scent of decay (…Tartarus.). Of familiar fur, and unfamiliar oils, and _him_.

Over and over, he dies and returns. She clasps him to her when he arrives, and scrambles for his hands once he can hold on no longer. Such soft hands—so unlike his father, she realises. He tells her facts so unbelievable they could be stories—of his birth, of his journey, of his fathers unending, unflinching _love_.

So, she goes back.

** **8** **

His hands shake (shake!) when he reaches for hers once again. His eyes averted, shame and pride, sorrow and love, all of it communicated in those burning red eyes and a single, silent, sweep of his thumb over hers. Zagreus, her dear son, averts his eyes, all at once most interested in the marbling of the wall, brow furrowing intensely as she raises Hades hand to her lips.

Once they retire, behind closed doors (at last!), the fire she had not realised she had missed dances across her collar, and her cheeks, and her lips once more. At once both fierce and gentle, she cannot help but think how she thought herself burned and _broken_ before.

For she is neither; with her son, and her husband, she is whole.

At last.

**Author's Note:**

> After a 3 month long writers block I had to bang this out. It was written exclusively to On the Coast. God, I love this game so much.


End file.
